


White Knight

by ferretbaby



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Toe fungus, cold nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferretbaby/pseuds/ferretbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles invites Derek into bed with him on a cold winter’s night. It has to be love if one is willing to battle toe fungus for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Knight

Stiles is sitting up in bed, reading from a bestiary he’d gotten from Chris Argent, the room dark around him except for a small lamp light. He still feels a little damp from the impromptu swim in the river, even after the nice warm shower he had afterward, so he’s stuffed himself under a pile of covers trying to fight off the chill creeping up his legs.

Derek knocks on the window, the half moon behind him illuminating his crouching figure, his breath fogging up the glass. 

Stiles raises an eyebrow and waves him in. More curious than annoyed by Derek, wondering why exactly he would stop by when they’d just seen each other 2 hours ago. 

“You okay?” Derek asks, looking around the room before his gaze settles on Stiles. Stiles is trying not to look too stunned by what he’s seeing. Derek isn’t wearing his black jeans or long sleeved shirt, leather jacket nowhere in sight. No, instead he was wearing a tight white wife beater with a small tear by the hip and some well worn grey sweatpants. It feels like 50 below outside and Derek looks like he’s been lounging around on a beach. It was mind boggling. 

And a little sexy. Okay, more the a little. It was hot. Seriously, Stiles has seen Derek half naked more times than he can count, why is this ensemble making him drool?

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, just reading up on Mermaids.” Stiles says with just a little bit of bitterness. It wasn’t everyday that you found a group of pretty naked water sprites trying to tempt Jackson to join them in the river. Poor Jackson hadn’t even tried to fight the crooning spell they sung, just waded out into the shoulder-high icy water without a single care. If it hadn’t been for Lydia calling Stiles and requesting his help (as well as a box of ear plugs) things could have turned out way different. 

“Why? They’ve been handled. They won’t show up in this territory again.” Derek shrugs, hands balling at his hips almost like he’s forgotten he’s not wearing his jacket and doesn’t know what to do with them.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You can never be too prepared. This group was easy to deal with, the next one might not be.”

Derek frowns, he probably didn’t agree with Stiles’ definition of ‘easy’. After Stiles had shoved a pair of ear plugs at him and Scott, the two werewolves had to swim out into the half frozen river and fish Jackson out while Stiles and Lydia negotiated with the mermaids about why Jackson would make a horrible merman. Informing them that Jackson was already a werewolf had appeared to do the trick, it seems the sprites don’t necessarily want a dog-fish in their midst (their words not Stiles’, which was hilarious) and took the enchantment off Jackson with a loud screech that had everyone cringing away. 

“I think they were just off their migration route. Creatures like that usually don’t come this far into the mainland.”

Stiles blinks. “You’ve known about mermaids?” Which would figure. Derek seems to know a lot about the supernatural, not just werewolves, and he never likes to share any of the information with the rest of the class until it’s too late. The incident with the trolls for example. Stiles still blames Derek for not informing them about the troll under Old Meyers Bridge when he drove Allison out to the cliffs to meet Scott. He’d almost had to marry the thing or risk having Allison killed. Because it was a girl troll. Who desperately wanted a husband, and Stiles guesses all the troll men are taken or even uglier because teenage boys seem to really do the trick for troll girls and they don’t take to kindly to ‘competition’.  

Derek looks up and to the right. Stiles has figured out by now this is way of avoiding answering something he thinks will only make Stiles more angry so Derek acts like a jackass and pretends he didn’t hear him. 

Conceding not to chew Derek out, at least for tonight because he’s too tired, Stiles sighs heavily and closes the ageing book. “Well, I’m fine as you can see. I didn’t get as wet as you or Scott.”

“Jackson says you went under when you slipped in.”

Stiles blushes. Figures Jackson would remember Stiles flailing in the water after he slipped on a piece of ice, even under heavy enchantment. “Yeah, but I got right out. Unlike you, who doggy paddled around in the water for 20 minutes.”  

Derek scowls. “I did not doggy-- I was saving Jackson from drowning.” 

“Right.” Stiles smirks. Derek huffs and walks over towards the open door to peer down the hallway. 

“He’s downstairs sleeping.” Stiles answers, even though he’s sure Derek’s perfectly aware that the Sheriff is downstairs in the living room, passed out snoring on the couch. His dad had also been near the river, following up on a frantic call from a concerned citizen that there was a group of naked teenagers jumping into the frozen river. He’d pulled into the area just as Lydia and Stiles had finished talking to the mermaids, leaving Jackson, Scott, and Derek to explain their presence as the two human’s hid. Watching Jackson and Scott sputter out excuses while Derek glowered towards the two snickering humans hiding up in the tree line behind the river. Derek’s excuse was that he’d been patrolling his property after receiving a similar phone call from a neighbor and the two beta’s had blushed out some excuse about a bet. 

 “Sit down,” Stiles says. “You’re making me colder just looking at you. You need a blanket or something? I have like 20 right here.”

Derek grunts, “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your leather jacket. Do you feel naked without it, is it like your wolfy security blanket?” Stiles teases, setting the book aside so he can focus on Derek as he paces the bedroom floor.

Rolling his eyes, Derek closes the bedroom door and locks it with a sound ‘click’. Stiles doesn’t comment. A small part of him shivers thinking Derek’s doing it because he wants to do something naughty to Stiles and not because Derek’s a paranoid creeper, but a teenager can dream right.

With his back to the headboard and his lower half under a mountain of blankets, Stiles’ is feeling content and thawed out, a lazy satisfaction to their usual dealings with the supernatural that usually end in bloodshed and tears. For once it was all really just a simple misunderstanding (migrating mermaids, who knew?) that was solved by the simple diplomacy of frank communication and ear plugs. 

“You looked pleased with yourself.” Derek snorts, finally taking a seat at the foot of Stiles’ bed. 

“Yeah, I saved the day.” Stiles preens, ignoring Derek rolling his eyes.

Derek leans back on his hands as he stretches his feet out so they bump into Stiles’ hip. Stiles blinks at him, about to make a comment regarding Derek making himself at home when he finally notices that Derek is barefoot and had probably arrived that way. Stiles stares.

“Oh god, what is wrong with your feet!” Stiles jerks back, flailing at the appendages in question. Derek’s toenails are worse than his Nana’s, who hasn’t been able to reach past her knees for the last 10 years and therefore bully’s his dad into giving her a pedicure every time they visit because of misplaced guilt. The yellow of Derek’s nails are turning a sickly green hue, hideous, long, sharp, and jagged. 

It isn’t because they are claws either, just normal human looking feet with the bad misfortune of having an unsanitary host.  

Derek shrugs and wiggles his toes. Stiles glares- at the feet not the werewolf- pinching his nose, afraid to breath around them incase they’re as toxic as they look. He’s almost positive that Derek has some sort of fungal infection.

Which is why 10 minutes later Stiles finds himself with Derek’s feet in his lap clipping the werewolf’s toenails. He wears gloves. “Dude, I hope you know this is way more intimate then I’ve ever been with Scott, and we’ve taken baths together. But I don’t think I’ve ever battled toe fungus for him.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek mutters. “And I don’t have any kind of toe fungus.”

Stiles clips a particularly long nail on Derek’s right pinky toe that goes flying into the air. The thing looks 3 inches long, how Derek could wear shoes without being miserable is another mystery for the great enigmatic Derek Hale. Just like how it’s still a mystery where Derek sleeps at night or takes baths even after 2 years of knowing the guy (No one can convince Stiles that Derek actually sleeps in the ruins of his old burned down house or that dilapidating warehouse, that shit just can’t happen or Stiles will be depressed).  

Derek looks like nothing is out of the norm. Leaning back and watching Stiles like this is an everyday occurrence. It might be, with how Derek runs his pack, except it doesn’t look like anyone’s touched Derek’s feet in months. 

“Ugh, I feel like I should take you out for a professional pedicure. Maybe have Lydia hook you up and schedule some time in next week to go to Mokena’s spa house, they have those little whirlpools for your feet and awesome massage chairs.”

“No.”

“Oh come on,” Stiles points at Derek with the nail file. “I’m not going to do this every time. This is just extenuating circumstances.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“Your feet!” Stiles presses down at the insole of Derek’s foot by accident and the alpha twitches. “This is unhealthy and unhygienic, and I can’t have you put your feet on my carpet or in _my bed_ in good conscious with you spreading your werewolf foot fungus around. I’d probably catch it and with my luck my whole leg will fall off.” 

Derek glares and tries to jerk his foot out of Stiles’ lap, but Stiles clutches at the thing like it’s his life mission to make sure Derek has the prettiest toes in all of Beacon Hills. He wonders if he can get away with painting the nails, you know, to cover up the yellow-green hue they currently are. Lydia might have left some nail polish over last time she came by to lecture Stiles. She had also made him help her paint her nails a pretty ‘salmon pink’ and he believes he saw the bottle laying around here the other day.

After a few minutes of struggling where Derek really isn’t trying hard and Stiles is getting cramps, Derek finally settles down and lets Stiles continue his work in peace. 

“Maybe you should see a podiatrist?” 

“Stiles…” Derek growls, giving a small jerk and kicking Stiles’ inner thigh with his heel. Stiles is a little alarmed at how close the werewolf’s foot is to his groin if he’s going to act like that.

“Other foot please.” Stiles asks nicely once he’s done with the one, grunting when Derek plops the other foot into Stiles’ lap. The grey cotton of Derek’s pants stretching across his thighs and Stiles has to look away before he starts to drool. Shit, those pants look well worn, they are practically transparent. Stiles wonders if he looks hard enough if he’ll see Derek’s underwear? 

Unless he’s not wearing any….

“How are things with Scott?” Derek interrupts Stiles’ fantasy. 

Stiles doesn’t even pause, just goes right on clipping all the excess nails from Derek’s gargantuan foot. What is that saying about big feet? Did this hold doubly true for werewolves?

“Hmm?”

“Scott.” Derek repeats. “You called him today so I thought things might have cleared up between you two.”

“It’s fine.” Stiles shrugs, not wanting to talk about it. Things are still awkward between him and his best friend, mermaids and trolls aside, but they’ve been drifting apart since everything went down with the alpha pack. Stiles had learned something from all that though and now he calls Derek as well as Scott when something supernatural goes down.

 “Right.” Derek clearly knows he’s lying but doesn’t question him, focusing on Stiles hands as they move across his feet, twitching minutely whenever Stiles’ pressed somewhere soft.

“Hey, you think I could sell your nail clippings to a witch?” Stiles asks curiously after a awkward moment. He’s read online that some spells use toe nails. He would bet his allowance that werewolf nails/claws are like the saffron of the witching cook book. 

“No. Don’t.”

“What?” Stiles thinks it’s a good question. “Witches love nail clippings, we could make a killing!”

“Yeah, literally. The only spells I know that use body parts from werewolves are not the nice kind.” 

“Oh come on, really?”

Derek gives a pointed look towards the growing pile of nails in Stiles’ lap and the trash can beside the bed. 

Sighing loudly, Stiles tosses the clippings into the trash under Derek’s glaring supervision, breaking out the nail file again to make sure all the edges are smooth. He hates it when the edges of his own nails get caught in his socks; it’s why his own toes are usually filed down to the plate. 

“So what other body parts are useful in a spell?”

Derek looks grumpy, answering “Everything” rather curtly. 

“Really?”

“Bones, blood, fur, fangs, eyes, and the list goes on.”

“Woah.” Stiles gulps, wondering if he should at least warn Scott about this. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s worse for born werewolves. We have pure blood.”

“What, like wizards?” Derek gives his a blank look. “Harry Potter, purebloods, muggles? Oh my god, I’m going down stairs and getting Dad’s copies of the paperback books, you are ridiculous, how can you not know about Harry Potter?”

“I’ve heard of it, just never had a chance to read the books.” Derek growls. “I’ve seen one of the movies, at the theater with Laura, but I had no clue what was going on.”

And that’s… that’s kind of sweet and sad at the same time. Derek never talks about Laura, except when he wants to remind Peter that he murdered her. Stiles is rather proud that Derek can talk so casually about his family to him. It means something to Stiles, more than Derek could probably imagine. 

“The books are better.” Stiles swears. “Not that the movies are bad, considering how some movie adaptations go, like Percy Jackson which is just horrible, but you need to read the books first then we’ll sit down and watch all eight of the movies.”

Derek’s lips curve up at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile. Stiles feels a blush staining his cheeks so he tickles the bottom of Derek’s foot. Derek makes a muffled yelping noise, pulling his foot back and sitting cross legged now that Stiles is done. 

“Idiot.”

Stiles laughs. “Whatever, you’re just lucky I didn’t play ‘this little piggy’.” 

“I’d…”Derek growls then pauses, his face screwing up like he smelt something bad.

“What, tear my throat out?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, assuming Derek was going to threaten him as usual. He brushes his lap off, setting the clippers and nail file on the dresser, and throwing the gloves on the floor, all without getting up. Stiles turns and calmly stares at Derek’s startled expression. 

Derek blinks, bewildered. “No. I… I don’t know what I would have done.”

This seems to really surprise Derek more than it does Stiles. Stiles hasn’t taken Derek’s threats serious since the pool incident so it’s not really a big deal to him. It’s like Derek is just now noticing how much time they spend together, since the alpha pack incident, and didn’t even realize that they’ve become friends. Friends who  not only call each other for help with the supernatural, but who clip each other’s toe nails and argue about Harry Potter.  

“Yeah?” Stiles says, smile turning into a smirk. “Here let me see your feet again, now that I know you won’t kill me I’m going to tickle them.”

“Stop it.” Derek moves his feet behind him as he lies down on his stomach next to Stiles. The white of Derek’s shirt contrasting brightly against the dark blue of the top blanket, iridescent under the light as the muscles of his back flex under the strain of holding himself up on his elbows. Stiles feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. Derek’s like the living centerfold a Playgirl magazine, all stretched out and on display on Stiles’ bed.

Giggling nervously, Stiles pats Derek’s shoulder. “Come on, move up.” He’s upgraded his bed to a queen when puppy piles became the custom for being in a wolf pack. “It’s snowing again, you can stay the night.”

Derek looks behind him to check, crawling up the bed and slipping under the heavy pile of blankets next to Stiles without protest. The windows closed shut, but the blinds are up so the view is pretty clear. White flecks tumble down gently, dusting the roof in spots before melting into slush. Tomorrow it will doubtless be iced over and Derek will have to leave using the front door, but who cares. Stiles likes it when it snows, he likes layering up, clothes, blankets, bundling up while the world freezes around him into a quiet stillness. 

“You don’t mind?” Derek asks. 

“Naw, we’re buds now.” Stiles smiles, scooting down so he’s lying down next to Derek. Derek’s giving off heat like a radiator, which means Stiles will most likely be sweating later, between Derek and the million blankets he scavenged from around the house, but he doesn’t mind. There has to be something to say about cuddling up with someone warm while it snows outside. “Cozy?”

Derek mumbles, sticking one arm under the pillows and jostling Stiles’ head. “Yeah, good. This okay?”

“I’m not the scary alpha who refuses to cuddle with his pups. I’ve done this before.” Stiles reminds him with a superior air, pulling the covers up around their necks. Just last week he’s had Jackson and Lydia over for cuddles times, squished between the two because they (or more likely Jackson) refused to see Derek when his wolf wanted him to, and apparently Stiles was a good substitute since he smelt like the alpha now. 

Derek snorts but doesn’t refute the claim. Stiles wiggles closer, his feet kicking Derek in the ankle. 

“Why are your feet so cold?” Derek yanks the covers up so he can peer down at their feet. Stiles scrambles for a minute, for some reason thinking he’s in his usual boxers and t-shirt instead of the thick plaid pajama pants he puts on for winter. Derek ignores him, hooking his ankle around Stiles’ legs and pulling him closer until Stiles’ nose almost bumps up against his chest. “I thought you said you were fine.”

Stiles doesn’t know where to put his hands, finally settling on curling them up by his chest even though he knows he’ll look absurd. His heart beats wildly in his chest, confusion and arousal making it skip a beat. “I am fine, my feet are always cold.” He grumbles, hoping it’s just the warmth and he’s not blushing like mad. Derek smells like smoked wood, dirt, and maple leaves, like the outdoors on a fall night or a camping trip with his dad. It’s intoxicating and captivating, and Stiles is five seconds away from burying his face between Derek’s pecks and just inhaling the werewolf’s scent like he’s going to get high from it. 

Derek grunts, tucking the covers tightly behind Stiles’ back before wrapping a thick arm around Stiles’ waist so Stiles’ face ends up squished into his chest anyways. And wow, Derek really has some huge biceps, like he could possibly squeeze Stiles in half if he even minutely flexed his muscles. 

There’s also a mole, right under the dip where Derek’s collarbones meet. He’s never noticed it before. Stiles wants to lick it. Could happen, and he might even maybe get away with it with how Derek seems to be pretty liberal with his body today. 

“Tell me if you get hot.” Derek says.

“I’m hot.”

Derek sighs the sigh all adults have when dealing with a teenager. Or just Stiles. “Are you really or are you just being an ass?”

“No, but admit it, you just want your turn to snuggle with the Stiles.” Stiles jokes, squirming into a comfortable position and nearly kneeing Derek. He really is rather warm though. His armpits and back feel sticky with sweat, which just figures because Stiles’ body would decide to be difficult and make sure the upper half of his body is boiling hot while the lower half still feels like he’s still thawing out. 

“Ha.” Derek barks with exaggeration. “Right. You’re a regular werewolf teddy bear.”

“Hey, no joke. I’m the snuggliest comfiest cuddle buddy there is. Ask Boyd if you don’t believe me, he was here last week for a 2 hour nap after practice and would have stayed longer if I didn’t kick him out. He likes the memory foam on the new mattress. Erica says Macy’s having a sale this weekend and I should go buy some 700 thread count sheets from Charter Club. Supposedly she cannot recommend them enough.”

“You indulge them too much.” Derek huffs, a warm palm settling against the skin of Stiles’ back under his shirt. Stiles can feel Derek’s feet wiggle around near his ankles, like he’s testing the buoyancy of said new mattress.

“It’s nice right.” Stiles shoots Derek a sly smile. The mattress was an indulgence that turned into a necessity. Seriously. As many times as Stiles ended up injured from lacrosse or werewolf shenanigans, having a nice bed at home to cradle him into la la land was for the best. 

“It’s okay.” Derek grudgingly admits, but Stiles knows he really is impressed. His eyebrows are doing his impressed dance. 

“You are in for a good night my friend.” Stiles teases, knowing how it sounds and not caring. Even Jackson gives Stiles’ bed a longing look every time he’s over.  

“Shh,” Derek whispers, pulling Stiles closer. He can feel the alpha smile against his temple so Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s neck, lips dragging on the skin there. This would be all sorts of infringing on personal space if a werewolf wasn’t involved. With werewolves it was all about being as close as bodily possible, boners be damned. 

Stiles yawns. “You aren’t’ doing your job, my feet are still cold.”

Derek doesn’t reply at first, just tucks Stiles closer until he can tuck his chin over Stiles’ head, his stubble rubbing against the short hairs from Stiles’ recent haircut. Stiles shivers from the feeling of it and Derek must misinterpret it because he tightens’ his arms, a leg slipping between Stiles’. 

“Why aren’t you wearing socks?”

“Don’t wanna,” Stiles mumbles into the cotton of Derek’s shirt. If he’s quiet he can actually hear Derek’s heartbeat pounding steadily like a clock, the heavy beat pulsing with power just right there in front of him, the small jarring movements under Derek’s left breast. It’s amazing and kind of astounding to hear physical proof that Derek does have a heart. If only Derek would listen, to see for himself that truth, because there’s no one who believes Derek is as heartless as much as Derek does. 

 “Stiles. Stiles?” Derek shakes him, leaning back so he can look Stiles’ in the eyes. 

“Hmm?” Stiles blinks sleepily, rubbing a fist against his eyes. Now that he’s cocooned under the blankets with his hot werewolf body heater, the warmth is slowly sloshing through his veins, making him tired and lethargic after the long day they’ve had. He muffles another yawn against Derek’s shoulder, trying to keep himself up a little longer.

Derek snorts, the gust of air tickling against Stiles’ ear. “Nevermind. Go to sleep.”

 Stiles snuffles sleepily and digs his toes into Derek’s ankle, wiggling until they’re up under the cotton of Derek’s pants and against the heated skin.

Stiles sighs blissfully. It feels like Derek’s literally pulling the cold from his limbs.

Derek sighs loudly but doesn’t move, his body relaxing into the complicated knot of limbs Stiles has maneuvered them into.

“Hey, sourwolf.” Stiles whispers, one hand uncurling from a fist to spread out over Derek’s left chest. Right over the alpha’s beating heart.

“What?” Derek growls out groggily, most likely exhausted from the day also. “Go to sleep Stiles.”

Stiles closes his eyes, smiling. “I am, Grumpy. Just wanted to tell you good night.”

Derek’s lips press chastely against Stiles’ forehead, right at his hairline. “You too. Now sleep. I don’t want to tell you again.”  

Stiles feels his body flush. Biting his lips to hide the huge smile breaking across his face, Stiles buries his face against Derek’s neck and shoulder. He wants to press a kiss there, but holds himself back.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Stiles drawls out, putting his arms around Derek’s chest and holding him tight. 

Derek snorts, and before long the two drift off into a dreamless sleep.

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my little brother popping his girlfriend’s zits in my living room the other day. She returned the favor. Must be 'Tru Luv' I guess.
> 
> Somehow this was suppose to be semi-porn with Derek wearing loose, see through sweats and somehow it turned into a cold night cuddle fic because I'm always tired and at work where it's cold, and I really miss my bed! Hope everyone liked my shout out to Macy's. Tried to keep it canon. =D for reals though, Charter Club has some awesome bed sheets. 
> 
> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine!


End file.
